


Marvel-ous Birthdays March 2018

by lj_todd, Meilan_Firaga, MelyndaR, ozhawk, starfishdancer



Series: Marvel-ous Birthdays [4]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies), X-Men (Movieverse)
Genre: F/M, Gen, M/M, Multi, Soulmates, Tumblr Prompt, birthday gifts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-04
Updated: 2018-03-31
Packaged: 2019-03-26 16:59:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 12,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13862013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lj_todd/pseuds/lj_todd, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meilan_Firaga/pseuds/Meilan_Firaga, https://archiveofourown.org/users/MelyndaR/pseuds/MelyndaR, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ozhawk/pseuds/ozhawk, https://archiveofourown.org/users/starfishdancer/pseuds/starfishdancer
Summary: Birthday gift fics written for followers of the Tumblr blogMarvel-ous Birthdays.If you would like a birthday gift fic written for you, please see the end notes of the final chapter for details.





	1. Index

1\. Index

2\. March 3 - **Darcy/Clint/Coulson** for monstacrow, written by MelyndaR

3\. March 3 - **Tasertooth** for sionnachoiche3, written by meilan_firaga


	2. Darcy/Clint/Coulson for monstacrow, written by MelyndaR

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **March 3 -** _Darcy/Clint/Coulson as a romantic ship, something comedic/fluffy maybe with the “Why is your hand on my ass?” prompt, for monstacrow_
> 
> _In an AU where Clint and Darcy know Phil lived after Manhattan, and followed him onto the Zephyr._
> 
> **Written by MelyndaR**

Phil had long discovered that he was the only morning person out of his triad, not that he minded. Most mornings, that just meant some peace and quiet for a little bit before his boyfriend and girlfriend got up. He could get dressed without having to weave around people, he could go downstairs and make and drink his coffee in the common room before Clint and Darcy came in, still in pajamas and staggering towards the coffee pot like it contained their lifeblood. _Some days, Phil became concerned that it might._

And then there were mornings like _this._ When he had spent the night as the meat to their lovers’ sandwich and getting out of bed without waking the superhero on one side and the superhero babysitter on the other… was a bit of a challenge.

Not even a toe had touched the floor before Clint pulled him gracelessly back, forcing him to return to lying in his spot, or else wake Darcy. “Can I help you?” he murmured as Clint snuggled into his chest.

“Don’t leave,” Clint muttered articulately.

“One of us has to be a grownup and go down to start the coffeepot,” Phil pointed out, hoping that if he could hit Clint where it hurt the archer might listen to him.

Instead, from behind him, a feminine voice rebutted sleepily, “Doesn’t have to be one of us. Make May make her own damn coffee for once.”

“Have you ever drunk May’s coffee?” Phil inquired of Darcy with raised eyebrows. “It’s not fit for consumption, and that’s me saying so even though I make coffee that makes Clint wince. Also,” he shifted to look at her as well as he could with Clint holding him captive. “ _Why_ is your hand on my ass?”

“Because,” Darcy grinned at him unapologetically, opening her eyes for the first time that morning to give him a look that conveyed all the ways she was willing to make it worth his while to stay in bed. “It is a very nice ass, and I would very much like for it to stay where it is.”

“I can think of some very fun things to do involving that ass,” Clint stated, and even without looking at him, Phil knew that Clint’s tone and Darcy’s gaze meant that if he didn’t move _soon_ , he likely wouldn’t move until well into the afternoon, which, while tempting, very unfortunately wasn’t feasible when one was supposed to be in charge around here.

 _He was pretty sure May was the one who was really in charge here – they all were – but he did still have responsibilities, so –_ he jackknifed abruptly into a sitting position, startling Clint into loosening his grip while also shifting Darcy’s hand off his ass. “Unfortunately, I have other things to do. But maybe later. Definitely later. Right now – coffee. Then… paperwork.”

_Definitely unfortunate._

“Breakfast before paperwork,” Darcy demanded as she, too, sat up, surrendering to the idea that they actually had to start their day like adults. “If you have to do work and be the boss-man today, then I demand a morning for Clint and me first.”

Leaning in to kiss her before he climbed out of bed, Phil promised, “I would never consider doing anything less, sweetheart.”

 


	3. Tasertooth for sionnachoiche3, written by Meilan_Firaga

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **March 3 -** _Bucky Barnes/Darcy Lewis or Victor Creed/Darcy Lewis, something fluffy/smutty maybe with prompt "What a nice little sound, I think I'll bite there again." for sionnachoiche3_
> 
> **Written by Meilan_Firaga**

**March 3 -** _Bucky Barnes/Darcy Lewis or Victor Creed/Darcy Lewis, something fluffy/smutty maybe with prompt "What a nice little sound, I think I'll bite there again." for sionnachoiche3_

**Written by Meilan_Firaga**

Darcy hadn’t exactly planned for impromptu, middle-of-the-woods ravishment when she’d picked out her underwear that morning. And by “picked out,” of course, she actually meant “summoned from the depths of the drawer where panties that should have been tossed years ago lived.” Actually, she wasn’t even sure she’d brought the kind of panties one would pick out with her when she’d packed for Jane’s little “research excursion”--also known as Operation Get Over Thor By the Power of SCIENCE!

Seriously, the town they were in was so remote that you had a better chance of running into a rampaging moose than an eligible bachelor. The good panties didn’t deserve to be brought so far only to suffer that kind of neglect. Which was a damn shame because back home she had quite the killer collection for a perpetual intern with pop tarts for a salary.

“I feel as though I might not have your complete attention, soulmate.”

Right. That guy. The woods and the ravishing.

There had been a bit of an incident.

Bad guys came for Jane and the Research. Darcy made a smartass remark. One bad guy pretty much instantly turned on the other bad guys with brutal efficiency, snarked out some words that just so happened to be the ones printed across her entire underboob, and promptly stole Darcy away to the romantic undergrowth of the conveniently nearby forest. They’d been thoroughly making out (which she was absolutely _not_ going to be ashamed about because “Go, Universe!” her soulmate was a fox) and had just started to make with the neck kissing and wandering of hands beneath clothing when the Underwear Conundrum began to gnaw at the back of her mind.

“I had thought that your sharp tongue and forceful delivery during the fight might mean my soulmate wasn’t some empty-headed wilting flower, but I’m starting to think I got my hopes up.” His voice had been deep and rumbling from the get-go, but it suddenly held the beginnings of an angry growl. She didn’t know whether to quake with fear or an awkwardly timed giggle. “I’ll ask again: Where are your thoughts, Darcy?”

“First off, you didn’t actually ask that,” she snorted, reaching up to run one hand over his short crop of hair before pushing her glasses back up on her nose. “Take a chill pill, my dude.” She shifted beneath him until she managed to dislodge the pinecone that was becoming intimately acquainted with the lower portion of her spine. “I’m not ignoring you or anything. Well, not on purpose, anyway. My anxiety brain is just picking a bad time to say hello.”

Her soulmate sat back on his heels and quirked his head to one side in a way that was surprisingly reminiscent of a cocker spaniel. His dark eyebrows furrowed and he absently ran his hand from her knee to her hip, squeezing gently when he reached the top of her thigh. The tips of his--nails? Claws? Whatever.--caught just slightly on the fabric of her leggings. “Are you anxious because I arrived with men who probably would have killed you?” he asked with a frown. His hand made the trip back to her knee and up to her hip once more, and Darcy started to suspect that the action might become a nervous habit. “Because I thought I took care of that problem.”

Darcy raised an eyebrow and let out another snort. Rapid murder of would-be kidnappers had definitely solved the immediate problem when they met, but she really hoped he wasn’t going to try that tactic for every issue they encountered. “No, we’re cool on that,” she assured him, tugging on his shirt until he leaned down enough for her to drape her wrists over his shoulders. He was watching her intently--a predator focused on his prey even outside of a fight--and another thought popped into her head and out of her mouth before she could stop it. “You know my name, but I never got yours.”

Surprise briefly lit his hazel eyes before he folded down over her like a cat settling into a particularly warm patch of sunlight. “It’s Victor,” he rumbled against her lips. “Victor Creed.”

“Victor,” Darcy breathed, testing the sound just before he fused his mouth to hers once more. The name was familiar in a way that said she’d probably read it in all those S.H.I.E.L.D. files that had hit the web, but she had better things to focus on. Like the way he’d already learned that tugging her bottom lip between his teeth would make her hips rock against his own. Or how she’d already figured out that dragging her nails across his shoulder blades even over his shirt would pull a hungry growl from his throat.

“Does that resolve the anxiety?” he inquired in a throaty rasp as he started to nibble his way from her jaw to her shoulder.

In spite of her efforts to focus on the effect his teeth, tongue, and stubble were having on her lady parts, an image of threadbare cotton with useless elastic rudely shoved itself to the forefront of her mind. There might have been holes. Possibly a faded My Little Pony print.

“No,” she whined, “this bitch doesn’t go away that easily.” With a frustrated groan she dropped her arms from around him, pushed her glasses into her hair, and scrubbed both hands over her eyes. She felt him push away from her, possibly sitting back on his heels again. “Look, this has nothing to do with you and who you are and the things you’ve done because, I mean, look at you! You’re gorgeous and growly and made of muscles, which is pretty much exactly the type of soulmate I always wanted to have and yeah it might be weird that I’m ready to jump on that pony right out of the gate when we met under weird ass circumstances but I’ve never been the type to think I was going to make my soulmate wait because Hello! Sex is awesome and again with the you being a pretty batch of sexy beast in a Darcy-approved package and I’ve always had this thing for bad boys and that’s definitely a bonus but here’s the thing: I’m pretty sure I’m wearing panties I’ve had since high school that definitely don’t match the two sports bras I’ve got on to tame the girls--one’s pink and the other’s about the same color as a yellow highlighter--and I don’t think I’ve shaved in a month and my brain keeps insisting that the second you get me naked you’re going to run away screaming.” Darcy finished on a deep, ragged breath with her hands pressed to her eyes. If she didn’t look at him she wouldn’t actively see him reject her.

“Is that all?” Victor asked mildly, shifting again to lie more fully against her. Darcy flung her hands away in surprise as his hips settled between her thighs and definitive evidence that her little freak out hadn’t diminished his interest in the slightest pressed against her. He was propped up with his elbows resting on either side of her head, muscular arms holding the majority of his weight so the rest of his body could lie flush against her own. He brushed one hand over her hair and settled her glasses back on her nose before he continued, a soft smile on his face that she suspected might not be a familiar expression.

“First of all, I don’t care about what you wear or if anything matches.” He kissed the tip of her nose. “And I’m told I’m a bit old fashioned when it comes to body hair, so as long as you’re comfortable with it I’m not going to care about shaving either.” His lips brushed her cheek. “I will always remember the day you were born and your words appeared on my skin because it was the day I realized that I might not be meant to spend my life alone.” The other cheek now.. “I promised myself that the life I’ve been living would end the day I met you, and I intend to keep that promise. I’m yours until you’re through with me.”

The kiss Victor placed on her lips next was gentle--almost chaste, even--and didn’t last more than a few heartbeats before he raised his head. “Now,” he insisted, winking at her before he continued. “The way I see it we’ve got two options. We can go back to town and wait for all this until you’ve had time to pamper yourself to your heart’s content. I’ll even buy you whatever undergarments you want. Or…” He trailed off and flashed her a grin that pretty much convinced her that he was going to be trouble. “Or I can promise not to look while I rip the panties you’re so worried about off and toss them in the bushes. Then we can get back to business.” To cap off the whole wonderful speech he bit his bottom lip and gave her a once over that could have melted those panties off her completely.

“How do I know you’ll keep your promise?” Darcy asked, internally doing a victory dance at the sultry tone she could hear in her own voice.

Victor huffed a laugh and gave her a quick, teasing kiss. “I always keep my promises.” He rocked his hips against hers again, providing the most delicious type of friction.

“Option 2, then, but don’t ruin my leggings. I like these.”

“Excellent,” he purred. He delivered another kiss--this one anything but chaste--then made his way across her jaw until he reached the shell of her ear. “Hold down your top,” he rumbled, pausing to gently nip her earlobe before sitting back on his haunches once more. He pulled off her boots and socks before peeling the leggings down, his eyes never once leaving hers.

This was not the first time that a man had gotten it into his head to rip off Darcy’s panties--or a woman, actually; there was that interesting night with a lady firefighter that she was never going to forget--so she’d prepared herself for the pain of having cloth pulled tight over particularly sensitive places. Instead, both of Victor’s hands slid up her thighs (knee to hips, totally some type of tic), worked their way beneath the bottom hem of her panties, and _shredded_ the fabric. His nails sliced cleanly through what remained of the cotton and elastic in seconds. He tugged them off her and tossed them over his shoulder without a glance, then set about letting his lips follow that knee-to-hip path but along the _inside_ of her thigh. There was no anxiety left in Darcy’s mind when his teeth sank into her skin just short of the spot where her leg met her torso and she let out a sound that couldn’t be called anything but a mewl of want.

“What a nice little sound,” Victor growled, his breath ghosting over the spot where she really wanted him to put that sinful mouth. “I think I’ll bite there again.”

And he did.

And by the time they’d picked themselves off the forest floor to head back into town--hand in hand--Darcy didn’t even care if he saw the scrap of cotton she swiped out of the bushes so they wouldn’t litter.

 


	4. Bucky/Bruce for flowerfan2, written by lj_todd

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **March 6 -** _Bucky/Bruce, fluff/light hurt comfort if that’s an option, prompt “you haven’t had sex in how long?” for flowerfan2_
> 
> **Written by lj_todd**

Being back at the Compound, after all that happened, after all he had learned had happened between the others, felt odd. Not wrong exactly but it definitely did not feel right either.

Bruce did his best to keep out of the way of the others, spending most of his time in the labs or, funnily enough, with Brunnhilde in one of the Compound’s many communal areas. Though most evenings spent with Brunnhilde meant trying to keep her from drinking herself to death, something she laughed about as, according to her and Thor and every other Asgardian, Earth alcohol was like drinking water.

He was surprised one evening to find Brunnhilde not alone when he went to meet her.

Sitting on the couch opposite her, dark hair tied back at the nape of his neck with a vibrant red band, was Bucky.

The former soldier was grinning at Brunnhilde, who was recounting how she had captured Thor and turned him over as a contender to the Grandmaster. Brunnhilde had a half empty bottle of whiskey in hand and, for the first time, actually looked tipsy.

"When exactly did you start drinking?" Bruce asked as he approached, causing Bucky to twitch sharply and look quickly to him but Brunnhilde merely grinned at him.

"Two days ago," she boasted almost proudly, still grinning as she took a swig of whiskey. "If I drink continuously your weak booze does have some effect."

Bucky huffed and examined the empty glass dangling from his fingers.

"Wish that worked for me," he mused and Brunnhilde began a rant about how, once the Asgardian people were stable in their new home she would instruct the royal snake to bring them proper mead so that her new shield brother could properly celebrate with her.

Bruce settled easily, lightly, on the couch next to Bucky as Brunnhilde returned to her story concerning Thor and the Hulk and their first epic clash in the coliseum. Bucky grinned when Brunnhilde suddenly pointed her whiskey bottle at Bruce.

"And him! He...He never...never once said he was..." She burped, loudly, grinning in a near manic way. "My friend the...the...Hulk!"

Bruce held his hands up in mock salute.

"In my defence," he said when Bucky looked at him questioningly. "I wasn't exactly in the driver's seat during the majority of my time on Sakaar."

"I can relate to that," Bucky quipped suddenly and Bruce couldn't help the way he stiffened.

He didn't know what emotion was in Bucky's voice, human subtlety was not his strong point, and he worried he had caused the other man some discomfort or upset, but Bucky suddenly bumped his shoulder against his and grinned at him while pouring two glasses of vodka.

"Don't worry, Doc," Bucky said, handing one of the glasses to Bruce. "I ain't gonna break just from a quick reminder that my mind hasn't always been in my control.

Brunnhilde frowned and quickly lowered the bottle of whiskey she had been chugging, gaze fixing on Bucky in much the same way Bruce remembered her looking at him before he'd revealed he was in fact the Hulk.

"What does that mean," she asked, bracing one hand on the table and leaning forward towards Bucky, her dark braid flopping over her shoulder. "Are you..." She burped and then hiccupped. "Are you like...like Big Green?" She nodded towards Bruce, who merely rolled his eyes at the nickname she had refused to stop using even after learning the truth of him. "You go all big and green too?"

Bucky snorted and down his glass of vodka in one go, setting the glass down with a clink, his metal arm whirring softly.

"Not quite," he said with a slightly shrug, as though trying to brush it off, trying to act tough but Bruce saw the flicker of vulnerability in those bright blue eyes. And he knew, despite her slight intoxication, that Brunnhilde had seen it too. "But I've got my own demons." He tapped his temple. "Right up here."

Brunnhilde gave a slow, almost thoughtful nod, leaning back and all but collapsing on the other couch.

"We all have our demons," she murmured, looking away from Bucky for a moment, getting that rare, far away look she got when thinking of her fellow Valkyrie and their fates.

Bruce opened his mouth to say...well...something, though he didn't know what, when Bucky beat him to it.

"Are you going to drink that?" the former soldier asked, bumping Bruce's shoulder lightly with his own, clearly trying to deflect from the morose atmosphere settling over the room.

"Oh," Bruce looked down at the glass of vodka still held in his hand. "I...uhh...I don't drink. Haven't for...for a long time. Couldn't risk the Hulk going on a rampage."

Bucky snorted and poured himself a fresh glass.

"I'm pretty sure you can control him now," he pointed out as Brunnhilde's attention returned to them as she switched her whisky for rum. "If not, well, Brunnhilde said he likes her so he probably would just keep drinking with her rather than run amuck."

Brunnhilde lifted her bottle in a mock salute before taking a quick swig.

"We can handle Hulk if he..." Brunnhilde stopped suddenly and looked at Bruce. "Wait...if you can't drink or get angry what about sex? Surely you still had sex, yes?"

Bruce felt his cheeks heat up as Bucky and Brunnhilde both stared at him, waiting for his answer, but it seemed his silence was answer enough because Brunnhilde whistled, shaking her head.

"Poor bastard," she said almost sadly, her face full of sympathy and Bucky gave a faint nod, but his expression was full of thought as he threw out another quip.

"Still beats a seventy year dry spell."

Brunnhilde spit her mouthful of rum across the room, coughing sharply even as Bruce stared at him wide eyed.

"You...uhh...I mean..."

Bruce had no idea what to say to that and, not sure what else to do, quickly downed the glass of vodka, wincing slightly at the taste and burn. God, it had been too long since he'd had a drop of alcohol but, much to his surprise, he didn't go big and green. Maybe it was all things in moderation after all.

Once Brunnhilde got her breath back she rounded on Bucky.

"You haven't had sex in _how_ _long_?!"

Bucky shrugged, sipping away at his vodka, while quickly refilling Bruce's glass.

"Wasn't a lot of call for it given I was, according to Steve at least, a prisoner of war."

The conversation after that quickly turned to Brunnhilde all but ranting about how ridiculous it was that two of her only friends had not had sex in decades, something she seemed to think was some sort of crime, Bruce had to remember to tell Tony to stop letting her watch certain television shows. It wasn't until after his third, or maybe it was the fourth, oh it could have been the fifth, glass of vodka that Bruce found himself grinning and laughing at her antics rather than feel embarrassed by them.

He blinked and suddenly Brunnhilde was gone and he turned towards Bucky, head spinning slightly, and he thought he asked about where Brunnhilde was but couldn't be certain. He saw Bucky smile and he couldn't help but think how pretty that smile was. How pretty Bucky was really. When Bucky chuckled, Bruce felt his cheeks heat up considerably.

"Oh," he murmured, blinking, head clearing slightly. "I said that...all...all...out loud, didn't I?"

Bucky nodded.

"It's okay, Doc," he said, reaching out to pluck the empty from Bruce's hand, setting it aside before standing. "I don't mind if a charming guy like you thinks I'm pretty."

Bruce blinked.

He didn't hear that right.

He couldn't have heard it right.

"You...You..." Bruce shook his head which, oh, the world was spinning now, not a good idea. "Uggh..."

"Easy, Doc," Bucky said, reaching down and easily lifting Bruce off the couch, holding him like he weighed nothing, tucking the somewhat intoxicated scientist to his chest and carrying him bridal style. "How about we have this conversation once you sleep this off, hmm? Maybe then Brunnhilde won't carry out her plan to get us both laid."

Bruce squeaked at the mere idea of Brunnhilde convincing one of the Asgardians to attempt and get him into bed and shook his head again, which did not help the spinning, and he groaned and clung to Bucky as he was carried from the room.

"Might...Might be...bad idea either...way..." He murmured, looking up at Bucky's face as they reached the elevator. "Don't...Don't know what...would...happen..."

"No way to know unless we try, Doc."

Bruce hummed and, suddenly, heard the Hulk's voice in the back of his mind.

_Puny Banner found good one. Don't chase away or Hulk bring him back 'til you don't chase away no more._

Bruce would have laughed, at the situation, at himself, at the Hulk but his eyes slipped shut.  
They could talk later.

Right now, even as he slipped into the darkness of sleep, he liked how it felt to be held in Bucky's arms.

 


	5. IronShock for wheresarizona, written by ozhawk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **March 9 -** _Tony/Darcy. Maybe some some smut with the prompt “You’ve been pouting ever since I went out on that date, what’s up?” I'm a sucker for jealous Tony. for wheresarizona_
> 
> **Written by ozhawk**
> 
> _Changed the wording of the prompt slightly to make things work._

“When was the last time you ate something?”

Tony almost jumped out of his skin at the sudden question. “Jesus, Darcy! Make a noise!” Checking he hadn’t disturbed any of the delicate electronics laid out on his worktable, he turned to face her, frowning. She folded her arms and raised her eyebrows at him.

“Answer the question.”

“FRIDAY, when did I last eat something?”

“You consumed a breath mint thirty-seven minutes ago, sir,” the AI said promptly.

Darcy chortled. “Breath mints don’t count, FRIDAY. Actual food. Something with caloric value over two hundred kilocalories,” she clarified.

“Sir consumed a protein bar and a fruit smoothie between nine and nine-fifteen PM yesterday evening,” FRIDAY said promptly.

“Also doesn’t count as an actual meal,” Darcy sighed.

“You didn’t specify that,” Tony said grumpily. “What do you care, anyway? You were out having a fabulous time again with the Captain, weren’t you?”

Darcy blinked. “No. Why would I be?”

“Well, you went to that benefit with him on Saturday night and then I didn’t see you all day yesterday…”

“It was Sunday, Tony. You’re the one who insists I have a day off, remember? Even if it does mean I always have to pick up the pieces on Monday morning.” She looked around the lab, at the various workbenches covered with works in progress, and sighed. “Come on. Let’s get this sorted out, and then I’m taking you out to brunch.”

“So how was the benefit?” Tony pressed as he followed Darcy around the lab, indicating which things were safe to touch and tidy away. “Did you finally get Steve to loosen up? Do a little dancing?”

“What’s the matter with you, anyway?” Darcy asked, ignoring the question. “You’ve been pouting ever since he asked me to go as his plus-one.”

“You said no when I asked you to the Stark Foundation Gala as _my_ plus-one!”

“Because my only sister had the shitty timing to schedule her wedding on the same day!” Darcy turned to frown at him. “And it’s not like you can’t pull out your little black book and ask any one of a hundred women who’d jump at the chance, unlike poor Steve who barely _knows_ any other women.”

“I didn’t want one of those other women. I wanted you.”

He was actually pouting; it was adorable. With a sigh, Darcy set down the piece of tech she’d just picked up and reached out to him. “You do know you could just have told me you didn’t want me to go to the benefit with Steve, right?” she said.

Tony accepted the hug, nuzzling into her neck. “I know we said we weren’t exclusive,” he didn’t exactly answer her question, “but I didn’t realize how much the idea of you with anyone else bothered me until Cap asked you out and you said yes.”

“Firstly,” Darcy said, “we agreed that because _you_ said you weren’t ready to commit to anything. Secondly, it wasn’t a date. It was a plus-one. And if you really want to know, it was deadly dull. I spent the whole night listening to Steve pontificate about vaccinating kids. He’s really passionate about the subject, but once you’ve heard it once…” She rolled her eyes.

Tony chuckled into her hair. “So, about that exclusive thing,” he muttered, hands busily easing up the hem of her skirt. “Any chance we could renegotiate?”

“Maybe.” Darcy gasped as he reached the apex of her thighs, deftly thumbing aside her panties. “What did you have in mind?” She squeaked as he lifted her off her feet suddenly, setting her butt on the cool surface of the lab bench.

“That I’m the only one who gets to fuck you.” Tony made short work of the buttons of her blouse, and Darcy shrugged out of it obligingly. “The only one who gets to see you like this.”

“You keep me too damn busy for another boyfriend anyway,” Darcy said, amused by his intense focus on getting her out of her clothes as fast as possible. “So I take it no more plus-ones with Steve?”

“Or Rhodey, or Sam, or those dates with that blind lawyer buddy of yours from Hell’s Kitchen who calls you up every now and then.”

“Matt? Trust me, those aren’t dates.” She moaned as a mouth closed over one peaked nipple. “Sure. Whatever. They can find their own dates from now on. Just means - ahhh - more nights I get to spend with you.”

For a moment there was silence except for heavy breathing and a few moans, and then Darcy gasped out “What about you?”

“You know my schedule,” Tony took his mouth off her breast long enough to say. “You manage my schedule. When the hell would I have had time to see another woman? I don’t want one, anyway. Just you.”

She rewarded him for that by pulling his head up to kiss him while her hands sought his belt. In between frantic kissing, she just about remembered to call an order to FRIDAY to lock down the lab.

Adore Tony though she did, she really didn’t need Bruce or Helen or Jane walking in and catching them fucking like rabbits on the workbench.

 


	6. Darcy Lewis/Remy LeBeau for celticbooklover, written by ozhawk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **March 11 -** _Darcy Lewis/Remy LeBeau, something smutty/fluffy please! The rest is up to you! for celticbooklover_
> 
> **Written by ozhawk**

“Remy!” Darcy bounded up to him almost the moment he entered the room, making his brows raise. Much though he liked the Avengers’ social media manager, she always kept him at arms’ length.

“Yes, _chère_ , what can I do for you?”

“I need you to answer these questions for this article I’m putting together,” she explained, and Remy sighed inwardly. Well, if that was all Darcy wanted from him, that’s what he would do. He waited her for sit down on the couch and immediately sat beside her. She gave him a wary look.

“Just reading over your shoulder,” he said smoothly.

“Hm.” She narrowed her eyes at him before looking back at her StarkPad. “All right. So. What’s your favourite colour?”

“Purple.”

“Really?” She eyed his black coat and pants. “Okay, purple it is. Favourite food?”

“Beignets. What magazine is this going in, again?”

She didn’t answer, and Remy began to get suspicious that it was probably a teen publication. That or Buzzfeed. He couldn’t decide which was worse.

“Current city of residence?”

“New York.”

“Really?”

“For tonight, _oui_. It sounds better than _vagrant_ , _n’est ce-pas_?”

She didn’t answer that, just moved on to the next question. “In your opinion, what’s the coolest thing you can do with your power?”

Remy smirked. “I can make girls’ panties disappear.”

Darcy dropped the tablet. Remy caught it deftly before it hit the floor. “Careful, _chère_ ,” he drawled, handing it back.

“You can _not_ do that.” Darcy glared at him, colour flushing her cheeks.

“Can too.” Leaning back, he spread his arms along the back of the couch. “I could demonstrate if you like.”

Remy was honestly surprised when Darcy bit her lip and gave him side-eye, before jumping suddenly to her feet.

“Go on, then,” she challenged.

*           *           *

Darcy couldn’t believe she’d managed to get up the guts to say it. Remy had been giving her openings for months now, but she’d never quite plucked up the courage to accept any of his offers. _Live for the moment, Lewis_ , she instructed herself sternly, ordering her knees to stop knocking.

“It is a permanent disappearance, _chère_ ,” Remy drawled, looking up at her. “I hope you do not like the ones you are wearing overmuch.”

She shrugged. “I can buy new ones. So how does this work?”

“You’ll need to lift your skirt.” He took his arms from the back of the couch, leaned forward, a red glow gathering in his midnight eyes. “I will need to touch.”

“It’s kind of cheating if you pull them down and stuff them in your pocket,” she said with a dismal attempt at a laugh, gathering her long hippy skirt in her hands and pulling it upwards slowly.

“No cheating, chère. Cheating’s not my style. I like to win fair and square.”

She’d heard that about him. None of the Avengers would play poker with him anyway. He was just that damn good.

Remy’s eyes dropped from hers now, watching as she edged the skirt above her groin finally, thanking her stars that her knickers, if not her best, weren’t from the deepest reaches of the underwear drawer either. Plain black bikinis.

“Practical,” Remy murmured. “Not what I expected of you, _chère…_ I thought you would wear silk and lace beneath your clothes. I’ve always known you were a woman of hidden, sensual depths.”

“The point is that you’re supposed to make them not-hidden,” Darcy said, trying to keep her voice steady. “Unless you’re backing out?”

“Not me, _chère_ ,” he said with a soft laugh, and then he reached his right hand out towards her, index finger extended. “Hold still, now.”

She very nearly held her breath, until his finger made contact with the fabric. Typical Remy, he went straight for the centre - right over her clit.

And as Darcy watched, open-mouthed, her panties shimmered with a deep purple glow before disappearing entirely.

“Holy shit,” she said in amazement.

“I’m heartbroken that you doubted my word, _chère_ ,” Remy said, placing his left hand over his heart. His right, of course, was still positioned dangerously close to Darcy’s groin.

She hesitated… and then made up her mind. “Is that all you can do with your power?” she asked, deliberately making her tone low and sultry. “I thought you’d have more imagination.”

“Oh, I can do many things, _chère_.” Remy’s voice was equally low. “I just don’t think the others are suitable for public consumption.” Rising to his feet, he hooked his left arm around her waist, pulling her hard against his body - and not coincidentally, her groin firmly into contact with his other hand.

Darcy gasped as a tingling heat spread outwards from his fingertips. Pleasure shimmered along her nerves and her eyes just about rolled back in her head as Remy’s talented fingers lightly caressed her.

“Why didn’t I let you do this earlier?” she mumbled, dazed with pleasure.

“I do not know, _chère_ , but now that you have, it will be my pleasure to convince you to let me do it again. And again…”


	7. Maria Hill/Sam Wilson for awriter314, written by Kiwigirl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **March 14 -** _Maria Hill/Sam Wilson fic, perhaps involving post-mission pampering. May be fluffy, smutty, cracky, or any combination of these for awriter314_
> 
> **Written by Kiwigirl**

“Alright, I think we’re done here.”

At Steve’s words, Sam folded his wings and dove towards the quinjet, timing his landing to send a spray of gravel into Barnes’ face.

“Dammit, Wilson,” the other man grumbled, but Sam wasn’t listening.

“Maria, hey.”

Maria looked up and smiled. “Sam! Nice flying out there.”

“You weren’t looking too bad yourself. Have you been training with Nat?”

“A little. I definitely need it, she’s still a lot better than me at hand-to-hand.”

“I doubt it,” Sam scoffed.

“Can we save the mush for when I don’t have to watch?”

Sam flicked the bird at Barnes as he followed Maria into the quinjet.

~~~

Steve used the flight home to debrief so the post-mission adrenalin high was already fading by the time they touched down at the facility in upstate New York. Maria wasn’t big on shows of physical affection, but she was listing against Sam’s shoulder as the engines powered down and the ramp opened.

“Come on, sleepyhead.” He brushed her hair out of her face and affection turned to concern. “You’re hurt!”

Maria frowned, wincing when the movement pulled at the cut on her forehead and the rapidly swelling lump underneath. “Damn merc got a lucky hit.” She scowled as he went to thread an arm around her waist and help her up. “Don’t you dare. It’s only a scratch.”

“Yeah, yeah, you’ve had worse. It’s just a flesh wound.”

“Are you quoting at me?”

Sam assumed an innocent expression. “Who, me? No, I’m distracting you. Look, we’re at the lift. Your place or mine?”

“I have no idea,” Maria replied dryly, as he directed the lift to their shared apartment. “But you’re still wearing your wingpack.”

“What? Oh, uh…”

“Go and drop it off at the tech room, I can get myself settled.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She whacked him gently on the shoulder at his salute. “Idiot.”

“Yeah, but I’m your idiot.”

~~~

Sam’s detour took long enough that she had time enough to shower and get dressed in her favourite nightwear before he got back.

“Sorry, Stark thought of a way to streamline the wings and couldn’t wait to tell me. We need to get Pepper back from the Board Meeting before he redesigns everything. I also dropped by the kitchen and got us -” his gaze narrowed in on her clothes. “Are those avocados?”

Maria crossed her arms over her chest defensively. “I like these pajamas.”

“I’m not complaining. How come I haven’t seen them before?”

“It was too hot to wear them. I only just figured out the thermostats at this place.”

Sam laughed, one hand going over his pecs in a move he must’ve picked up from Steve. The action drew her eyes to the container in his other hand.

“Did you bring me cookies?”

“No, I brought me cookies.” Sam paused. “I am willing to share for half share of the bed.”

Maria pretended to consider it, then obligingly moved over, her gaze fixed on the cookies. “You’ll clean up first, of course. You can leave the cookies here.”

With a show of great reluctance, he passed the container over. “I’ll be quick. Don’t eat them all without me, now.”

She waved him away. “Take your time, it’s fine.”

When he got back, it was to find his girlfriend asleep, cookie still in hand. He removed the container from the pillow beside her, putting it on the bedside table. Weighing up the benefits of waking her, he decided to join her instead. He had to eat the cookie, though. No point in wasting it.

 


	8. The Collector/Brock Rumlow for trashi3y, written by ozhawk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **March 20 -** _The Collector/Brock Rumlow, and if possible, a soulmate AU? for trashi3y_
> 
> **Written by ozhawk**
> 
> Cross-Posted to The Crackship Armada Sails Again, since it's a soulmates meeting I haven't done before (and nobody will ever do again...)

“Brought you something interesting, Collector.”

Taneleer Tivan didn’t even glance up from his work. “My Collection is closed until I am able to complete the new catalogue.” The stylus snapped in his fingers, and he took a deep breath before selecting another. “I am not acquiring new exhibits.”

“You’ll want this one.”

Deakon was a mercenary, an annoying one, but someone who’d brought him interesting items in the past. His voice seemed quite certain, so Taneleer considered briefly before finally looking up. His eyes narrowed.

“Is that a _human_? What’s wrong with its face?”

“Fuck off,” the scar-faced human snapped. “You’re not exactly a supermodel yourself. What’s with that hair? Stick your finger in a power socket?”

Despite his irritation at being interrupted, Taneleer found himself smiling. Humans were a rarity in the wider galaxy, but prized for several reasons, one of them being their incredible adaptability and the other being their sardonic sense of humor.

Taneleer just called it rudeness. And there were precious few beings of any species who dared be rude to him. This one might alleviate the tedium, for a while at least.

“It’s ugly,” Howard the Duck said from across the room. “I don’t want to look at it.”

“Looked in a mirror at yourself lately?” the human snapped back.

Cosmo, often the final arbiter, barked happily and slipped out from under Taneleer’s desk, where he’d been snoozing on his master’s feet. Trotting up to the human, he sniffed at his fingers and whined.

“Hey,” the human said, gravelly voice softening as he petted Cosmo’s head. “Hey. Who’s a good boy, then?”

“So do you want it, or not?” Deakon asked eagerly.

Taneleer waved his hand. “Standard fee. Now leave.” He was interested in watching the human interact with Cosmo. Two beings from the same planet of origin, even though one of them had a low sentience level, they seemed instinctively drawn to each other. Studying their interactions could be intriguing.

“What is your name, human?” He opened a new card in his database, preparing to enter details.

“Brock Rumlow,” the human said. “Who’s asking?”

“I am Taneleer Tivan, known as the Collector. What happened to cause your scars, or were you born like that?”

“A building fell on me. What happened to cause your hair, or were you born like that?”

It had been a long time since Taneleer laughed, truly laughed, but he did so now. “My birth was so long ago, none living now remember it.”

“Whatever you say, Gramps.” Still petting Cosmo’s ears, Rumlow looked around at the exhibition cases, many still empty, though all had been repaired. “So what do you collect?”

“Things which are rare and unique, or of particular interest due to their part in an important historical event. Or, on occasion, simply things which it amuses me to have.”

“Which category do I fall in?”

“That remains to be seen.” Setting down his stylus, Taneleer stood and approached Rumlow. Moving around him slowly, he inspected the heavily muscled form - wider than other humans he had observed, though not taller - and considered his scars. “I think an ordinary human would not have survived the events that caused those scars, which means you are no ordinary human.” Reaching out to lightly touch the ridged white scar tissue on Rumlow’s jaw, he was not really all that surprised when the man’s hand flashed up with far greater speed than any human should be capable of and grabbed his wrist.

He _was_ surprised when his wrist began to burn with pain, though. He’d touched humans before and not suffered any ill effects; they did not secrete any substances through their skin which would be hazardous to his kind.

“What the fuck?” Rumlow let go, looking at his hand in surprise. However surprised he might be, it was nothing compared to Taneleer’s shock as he saw the sigils on his wrist, in a language which he had not seen written in more eons than he cared to recall.

“That is _not possible_ ,” he said, stunned.

“Why is your name tattooed on my hand? What the fuck is this, some sort of slave brand? I don’t fucking want it, and you’d better believe I’m perfectly willing to cut away some of my own skin to get rid of it…”

“It’s not a tattoo,” Taneleer cut off his rant. “It is a soulmate mark.”

“A what now?”

“It is said that no single body can be great enough to contain an entire soul. So they are split into parts, halves or thirds, and when those whose bodies meet come into contact - if they ever do - they will know each other by their touch.” Awed, he turned his wrist, gazing at the sigils. “Do you know how long I have lived, searching for the other half of my soul? Do you have any idea how _rare_ it is, to find the other half of one’s soul?”

“No, and no.” Rumlow gave him a searching stare. “I don’t think we have this on Earth.”

“Even on a planet with billions of beings, the chances of there being two halves of one soul are incredibly small. That those two might meet? Astronomically miniscule.” Reaching out again, Taneleer took Rumlow’s hand in his, lightly caressing the words now permanently etched into the other man’s palm.

“My Collection is finally complete,” he said softly. “I have found the rarest, most unique treasure of all.”

 


	9. Darcy Lewis/Skurge the Executioner, for meilan-firaga, written by ozhawk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **March 22 -** _Darcy Lewis/Skurge the Executioner, something humorous (maybe even cracky) with a hefty helping of smut, "I'm not drunk, I'm just intoxicated by you" being thrown out by either of them and the other person being so disgusted at the cheesy line but still going for it, please! for meilan-firaga_
> 
> **Written by ozhawk**

“So, the bald dude,” Darcy said, watching Brunnhilde carefully. The Valkyrie had seemed scary at first, but in reality she was probably the friendliest of the Asgardians. At least, once Darcy discovered how much she liked rum.

“Skurge?” Brunnhilde downed another tumbler full and reached for the bottle. “What of him?”

“Well, all the other Asgardians give him a wide berth, and none of them will talk about why. I thought you might know.”

“He served Hela,” Brunnhilde shrugged before pouring most of the contents of the bottle into her glass.

“He _what_?” Darcy’s eyes popped wide.

“Given the choice of serve or die, what would you have done? Those Asgardians who look down on him, they survived because they hid. Skurge was the Bifrost Guardian when Hela came through; he did not have the option of hiding. And at the end, he fought with us, perhaps even turned the tide of battle in our favour. Hela was certainly displeased; she flung a dozen of her blades into him. If Loki was not so skilled a healer, Skurge would not have survived.” Brunnhilde paused with the glass not quite at her lips, cocked her head. “Are you interested in him as a potential bedmate?” she asked, in delighted tones.

Darcy blushed. “Well. He’s kinda hot.”

“Since your tastes do not run to women, I dare say you could not do better.” Brunnhilde winked at her before slugging down her rum. “I will send him to you. Be gentle with him; his ego is still a little fragile.”

Darcy had to laugh as the Valkyrie wandered off, still admirably steady on her feet despite having drunk a good half a bottle of rum in about ten minutes. Shaking her head, Darcy sipped at her own glass.

“Brunnhilde said this is the best rum,” a deep voice rumbled, and Darcy looked up - and up - at Skurge. He wasn’t quite as big as Thor or Heimdall, but he was still one of the biggest men she’d ever seen, huge shoulders blocking out the light as he loomed over her. He wore all black, which only served to make him even more imposing.

She gulped. “Yes. Please, have a seat.”

He sat down, eyeing her from eyes as black as coal. “Thank you, Darcy.”

He did know her name, then. She wasn’t sure. She’d been working with the Asgardians, helping them resettle on the large island off the southern coast of Australia which Tony had bought for them lock, stock and barrel, to make the new nation of Asgard. They were a pretty self-sufficient lot, though, and she’d ended up spending most of her time acting as a liaison between the Asgardian leadership - consisting of Thor, Loki and Heimdall - and the rest of Earth’s nations. Skurge had not yet claimed any land, and she wondered if he had plans to.

“Here.” Pouring him a generous glass full of golden-brown rum, she slid the glass in his direction and raised her own to him. “Cheers.”

Skurge looked quizzical.

“Oh. It’s a toast?”

“Then I shall offer one also,” he said, quite seriously. “A toast to your beauty, Lady Darcy.”

She was blushing wildly by the time he drained the glass and set it down, nodding with approval. “An excellent beverage.” Taking a seat, he claimed the bottle for a refill. “Would you care for more, Lady Darcy?”

“Easy there, big guy,” she said with a laugh. “We humans can’t drink this stuff like you Asgardians. If I have too much of this, I’ll be rolling on the floor. Or dancing on the bar. I’m not sure which is worse.”

“The floor,” Skurge said. “At least in my opinion. I have no doubt your dancing would be glorious.”

She laughed, ducking her head and blushing before telling herself to get a grip and looking back up at him through her eyelashes. “Why don’t you come and dance with me, and then you can judge for yourself?” She nodded towards the small dance floor where several couples were dancing.

Skurge looked absolutely astounded, before understanding seemed to dawn in his expression. “Ah, you have had too much to drink.” He looked almost sorrowful. “Please, Lady Darcy, allow me to escort you to your quarters to rest. You will need to sleep it off.”

“I’m not drunk,” she said, amused. “I’ve been nursing this single shot of rum for the last hour and a half. I’m just… intoxicated by you.” She was, too. Up close he seemed even bigger and more intimidating, his bulging arm muscles thicker around than her head. “But hey. If you’d rather head straight for my rooms than dance, I’m down with that. We can do the horizontal mambo instead.”

*           *           *

He did not always quite understand the colloquialisms she used, despite the gift of All-Speech, but the open invitation in her look was unmistakable. Skurge gave in to the urge to look around, wondering if she could possibly have mistaken him for someone else.

Darcy laughed and reached out to tap his knee. “You, big guy. I’m talking to you. So how about it? You down?”

He was definitely not down. Quite the opposite, and he was pretty sure she knew it, considering the direction of her gaze and the way she licked her lips. His pants were far too tight, Skurge realised for the first time. He fought the urge to shift around, trying to get more comfortable.

“Maybe a dance first?” he suggested. That would give her time to rethink, change her mind. Sober up a little, though she wasn’t acting intoxicated, apart from her inexplicable attraction to him, that was.

“Sure.” A tiny hand slipped into his and she tugged, leading him to the dance floor.

It turned out that Darcy was a terrible dancer. She was too stiff, and she had no rhythm at all. It was that which convinced Skurge she really was sober; drunk people tended to relax more, let the music sweep them up.

He moved easily to the music, of course. A thousand years of training and fighting makes every step into a dance, finding the underlying beat to every moment. Chuckling at Darcy’s clumsiness as she almost fell over her own feet, Skurge caught her by the waist and drew her close to him.

“Relax. You are so stiff.”

“I think that’s my line,” she quipped with a sassily raised eyebrow, rocking her hips against his, and he lost the battle to resist, leaning down to kiss her.

Surprisingly strong arms locked around his neck as she kissed him back.

Perhaps the rum was stronger than he realized, because afterward he had no recollection of finding their way to her rooms. Or losing their clothes somewhere between the door and the bed, though he did find one of his boots flung atop the wardrobe after a long search the following afternoon.

Or perhaps he was the one intoxicated by Darcy, by the impossible softness of her skin, the way her mouth tasted. And the rest of her, as he made it a personal mission to explore every inch of her with his tongue. Her cries of pleasure, interspersed with soft pleas and shouts of his name, were music to Skurge’s ears, he who had thought no woman would ever permit him access to her body again after his cowardly choice to serve rather than die honourably. He had failed even to rectify his mistake, dragged back from the brink by Loki’s magic, had thought his penance would be to live denied meaningful contact ever again.

Yet, here was the Lady Darcy, who surely knew exactly who he was and what he had done, rising above him with a wild look in her eyes, kneeling above him to take him into her body with a long, rapturous moan. He reached up reverently to cup her bountiful breasts, a perfect fit for his massive, scarred hands, and she smiled down at him, lowering her own hands to grasp his biceps.

“That feel so good, Skurge!”

“This feels like a wondrous dream,” he told her in response. “Was that rum a magic potion? Will I wake tomorrow to find you were nothing but a product of my fevered imagination?”

Darcy laughed and leaned down to kiss him, body clenching around him in a way that made Skurge suck in his breath. “I’m hoping you’ll wake tomorrow spooned around me and eager to do this all over again,” she told him in a sultry tone. “Next time, I might even let you be on top.”

Her tone was teasing, and suddenly Skurge was done with doubts. If this was a dream, or a spell, or in any way not real, he would deal with that later. For now, he was going to live in the moment.

With an easy surge of muscle, he flipped the pair of them over.

“ _Let?_ ” he growled softly, enjoying the way Darcy’s pupils flared and she let out a little mewl of ecstasy. “By the time I’m done, you’ll _beg_.”

“Oh my god, that’s the sexiest thing anyone’s ever said to me,” Darcy whimpered as he grasped her hands, drawing them up over her head and clasping them together gently beneath one of his huge ones. “I don’t think it’ll take much…”

It took a scant few thrusts of his hips, and she was gasping out desperate pleas, writhing under him in a way that would drive him rapidly insane. Fortunately, he knew he would recover quickly even if he did not last long enough to satisfy her this first time - and even more fortunately, as he lost himself in release, he felt her body clench tight around him, her ecstatic screams ringing in his ears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can I just say how much I LOVED writing this? There's not enough love for Skurge out there. Karl Urban was SO HOT in that role!


	10. Matt Murdock/Natasha Romanoff for mattmurdocksgirl, written by Kiwigirl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **March 25 -** _Matt Murdock/Natasha Romanoff. I'm thinking that they've been secretly seeing each other for a while, and at some event (after a battle team up with the Defenders & Avengers, or some event where they'd all be together) their respective teams find out somehow. I'll leave the rest up to you. for mattmurdocksgirl_
> 
> **Written by Kiwigirl**

They were fighting the latest eldritch abominations that had escaped onto Broadway when a roar split the air.

“What was that?” Danny asked, as the tourists all turned their phones to capture the latest excitement.

“I think it's the Hulk?

It's all the Avengers,” Matt corrected, as a vaguely human shape toppled over, an arrow in the vague area of its throat. “Hawkeye is up there, Iron Man is one avenue out east, Cap is south of our position with the Black Widow.”

“Hawkeye, Iron Man, even Cap I get with the giant frisbee. But how did you recognise Black Widow?”

Matt paused. “Uh. I'm a big fan.”

Jessica laughed, actually laughed, in delight. “No way. I never took you for a fanboy.”

“Can we focus here?”

“I can multitask.” She punched the next abomination with such enthusiasm, it soared past three tourists and exploded on impact, covering a living statue in grey goop. “Does your new girlfriend know about your little crush?”

“What new girlfriend?”

“Dude. I’m a private investigator. Just because you somehow manage to give me the slip doesn’t mean I don’t notice you sneaking off.”

“You’re not as good at sneaking as you think you are. And yes, she does know.” Before Jessica could grill him some more, he let the tide of battle sweep him away from her. If his new location allowed him to ‘watch’ the back of a certain red-headed Avenger, well, that was just being a good neighbour.

~~~

Once the eldritch abominations had been dispatched back to their home dimensions, the two teams met up in the middle of Times Square. Iron Man had barely landed when Jessica took it upon herself to do the introductions, with an enjoyment that was more unsettling than the abominations had been.

“...and this is Daredevil. He’s a big fan. Mostly of the Black Widow.”

“Oh, really?”

Matt could hear the smirk in Tasha’s voice.

“Absolutely,” he replied, straight-faced.

“I’m flattered. Always nice to meet a fan.”

There was a sharp intake of breath from Hawkeye, who was perched on some overturned bleachers nearby, followed by a sigh. “Not my business,” he muttered, inaudible to mostly everyone, save Matt’s enhanced hearing.

From the way Captain America frowned, he heard it too, and Matt could almost hear the gears ticking over in his head.

Knowing the other man would soon put two and two together, Matt angled himself towards Tasha, cocked his head in the slightest approximation of a question. After a heartbeat, she responded with a tiny shrug.

“So, do you come here often?” he asked, with exaggerated casualness. “I hear there’s a bumper crop of Tony nominees if you’re in the mood for a musical.”

Most of their teams laughed, though Jessica gave him what he was sure was a suspicious stare.

“You do know that Black Widows eat their mates, right?” Iron Man quipped. “And you’re not even a little bit nervous?”

“Good thing they call me the man without fear.”

Even Jessica groaned at that.

Ignoring her, Matt stepped forward and offered Tasha his arm. “Would you like to go for coffee? All of this fighting has made me hungry.”

“I’d love to,” she replied, tucking her hand into the crook of his arm. “You boys can take care of the cleanup.”

As both their teams stared in surprise, they sauntered away. As soon as the crowd closed around them, they sped up to avoid the inevitable questions. Thankfully, the tourists had already begun to lose interest and were busy taking photos of the destruction. Matt could hear Jessica swearing up a blue streak in realisation behind them, and he grinned.

“Did you really want coffee?” he asked, when they paused at an intersection, several blocks away.

“The weirdlings interrupted my dinner, so I’d rather something more.”

“Pizza?”

Tasha lit up. “Sounds perfect. I - Are you going to wear the suit to dinner?”

“I have a feeling we’re going to get tracked down if we stay in public. Probably best to go somewhere quiet.”

“Mmm,” she agreed. “Meet you at my place? I’ll order the pizza if you bring the wine.”

“I thought you preferred vodka? I’ve got a bottle in my freezer.”

“I knew I liked you.”

~~~

No-one took a second look at the couple kissing on the corner. One guy in a weird suit looks much like another, and there are at least three women dressed as the Black Widow around Times Square on any given day. If they vanished onto the rooftops a tad faster than might be expected, no-one bothered to hang around long enough to notice.

(Jessica might’ve noticed, but she was on her way to Matt’s apartment with a list of questions and a camera. She also checked his office and three dumpsters before giving up. Not the most satisfying end to the day, but at least she got to punch things.)

 


	11. Helen Cho/Bucky Barnes for jadeobsession-love, written by ozhawk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **March 25 -** _Helen Cho/Bucky Barnes “I want to watch you” i was thinking maybe smutty with Helen having Bucky masturbate/come for her? if not, then whatever ya'll wanna do, is also fine for jadeobsession-love_
> 
> **Written by ozhawk**
> 
> SMUTTY, as if it could be anything else with that prompt!

Bucky bit his lip, flexing his fingers slowly, watching his hand to see if he could detect any tremors, any unexpected movement. The tiny Korean doctor who had apparently _grown_ him a whole new arm had put him through a whole battery of tests, including making him juggle eggs, of all things, to test his grip and dexterity. It still felt different to the heavy mechanical prosthesis he’d been wearing for decades, though.

Gingerly, he picked up the book lying by his bed. Holding it in his right hand, he used his left to turn pages, something his prosthesis had never been capable of without tearing the paper. Grinning with triumph, he threw himself back against the sinfully soft pillows, giving a little laugh of joy.

Helen Cho popped her head round the door just then, and, seeing him idle, came fully into the room. “Doing some independent testing?” she said, her dark brown eyes twinkling. “I assure you, it’s as fully functional as your original arm.”

“Problem is, I don’t remember how to use my original arm,” Bucky said wryly. “I gotta relearn everything.”

“Take your time.” Her fingers against his wrist were barely detectable, the lightest possible touch, but he _could_ feel it. “You’ve got all the time in the world.”

Her touch was so gentle. Bucky couldn’t help but wonder how her fingers would feel against other parts of his body, and hastily lifted his knee to disguise the fact that he was tenting the sheet. His thin pyjama pants didn’t help the issue at all.

“Well, I’ll leave you to rest. I’ve got another patient to see.” With a bright smile, Helen left him alone, the door clicking closed behind her. Bucky tried not to watch the way her hips swung as she walked, he really did.

He failed miserably.

“Get a grip, Barnes,” he muttered, shifting in a vain effort to get comfortable. The only thing he ever missed about the Soldier’s mindset was the iron discipline, the ability to set bodily discomforts aside. “Fuck it!”

His right hand slid beneath the sheet, pushed his pants down, curled around his cock… before he paused.

Maybe this would be a good test for his new hand, at that. If he could bring himself to climax with it, then maybe he’d start trusting it.

Kicking the sheet aside and his pants all the way off so he could see better what he was doing, Bucky carefully wrapped his new left hand around his cock. He had no fear of anyone walking in on him; Doctor Cho was very stern about restricting his visiting hours, and she was the only person who would come in outside them unless he hit the call button. And since she’d just left, he was certain to be undisturbed for a while.

Thoughts of his beautiful doctor on his mind, he had no trouble at all coasting up close to the edge of climax. Which was right where Helen caught him as she popped back into the room.

“Sorry, Bucky, forgot to say… _oh_. My goodness.”

“Fuck!”

There was no possibility of pretending he’d been doing anything other than cranking one out. His shifting feet had kicked the sheet right off the bed to the floor, and he was utterly exposed, hand clenched around his cock.

For a few seconds they stared at each other, both wide-eyed, and then to Bucky’s utter astonishment, Helen closed the door and leaned back against it, folding her arms, a little smile playing about the corners of her mouth.

“Carry on.”

“Uh?”

“Carry on. I want to watch - observe your repetitive motor control.” Her lips were twitching, though, and Bucky was about ninety per cent sure she was fighting back laughter.

“Or you could come over here and demonstrate _your_ repetitive motor control,” he cracked back, wondering if she’d just leave. He was the vulnerable one here, literally exposed.

Hands dropping to her sides, Helen walked towards him slowly, shocking Bucky. He really hadn’t thought she’d come a single step closer. Instead, she walked right up to the side of the bed, leaned over towards him and whispered, eyes locked with his;

“How about I demonstrate my complete absence of a gag reflex instead?”

 


	12. Natasha/ Wanda for zoeyknight, written by ozhawk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **March 28 -** _Natasha/ Wanda fluff/smut with the prompts "Can I sit on your lap?“ You’re so cute when you’re tired, you know. What a nice little sound, I think I’ll bite there again. for zoeyknight_
> 
> **Written by ozhawk**

Wanda was showing all the signs of someone hopped up on adrenaline and too tired to sleep. Natasha watched from her position in a comfortable armchair as the younger woman prowled around the living room, exhaustion slowing her steps but unable to stop moving.

“You should sit down. Give your legs a rest. It was a rough day.”

Wanda didn’t reply for a while, just paced a few more lengths of the room. She actually surprised natasha when she spun to face her and asked abruptly “Can I sit on your lap?”

Natasha’s eyebrows went up, but she nodded immediately. “Of course you can.” If Wanda needed physical comfort, even if it was just a pair of arms to hold her, Natasha was more than happy to oblige. And her armchair was certainly big enough for both of them.

At least Wanda discarded her leather coat and her boots before settling onto Natasha’s lap, curling up small and tucking her head under Natasha’s chin.

“You’re so cute when you’re tired.” Natasha kissed the top of Wanda’s head with a smile.

“Not tired,” Wanda mumbled.

“Suuuuure.” Natasha chuckled as Wanda made a grumpy sound of denial. “Why don’t you come to bed with me, then? I’ll give you a massage. If you can stay awake more than ten minutes, I’ll give you a lot more.”

“Deal,” Wanda agreed, and Natasha smiled, urging her gently to her feet.

Wanda lasted exactly four minutes, by the clock beside the bed. Natasha knew the moment she slipped into sleep, of course, but kept going with her massage, gentling her strokes but continuing to ease the tight muscles though Wanda’s neck and shoulders. Finally, she lay down too, nestling herself in to spoon around her girlfriend, and closed her eyes.

*           *           *

Natasha woke to Wanda nibbling the inside of her thigh. She hummed with pleasure, shifting to move her legs further apart.

“What a nice little sound,” Wanda murmured. “I think I’ll bite there again.” The next nip of her teeth was a little sharper.

Natasha moaned this time. “Is this punishment because I made you go to bed?” she asked, a thread of laughter in her voice. “You’re the one who fell asleep before the ten minutes was up.”

“Eh, don’t remind me,” Wanda said. “I was looking forward to that, too.”

“Well, let’s make up for it now, hm?” Smiling, Natasha reached down to run her fingers into the long, silken strands of Wanda’s hair. “We’ve got nowhere to be.”

“Apart from debriefing?”

“Fuck debriefing.” Natasha hooked her ankles under Wanda’s armpits, pulling her girlfriend’s face more firmly against her groin. “They’re all far too terrified of the pair of us to argue if we just skip it.”

Wanda laughed huskily, in between delicate nibbles and licks. “Of you, at least. Me… they still think I’m a child.”

“They are not truly looking.” Natasha moaned as Wanda slid a finger in beneath her lapping tongue. “You’re a woman. _My_ woman.”

 


	13. Bucky/Natasha/Darcy/Steve for ficsandteamakeahappyme, written by starfishdancer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **March 31 -** _Bucky/Natasha/Darcy/Steve, something established relationship, a little fluffy but a little smutty maybe with kitchenwitch Darcy taking care of her lovers for ficsandteamakeahappyme_
> 
> **Written by starfishdancer on AO3**

 

Darcy used the back of her left wrist to push a damp strand of hair off her forehead, her right hand busy carefully stirring the simmering pot on the stove in a deasil. She added a little more fresh thyme she’d charged into the mix, biting her lip in concentration as she focused her energies into the brew. She nodded to herself and stepped when she felt that inner kind of shimmer that told her it was enough.

And just in time, too, as the door slid open and the two stragglers made their way in.

“Whatever you are making smells amazing, Darcy,” Steve said.

“Out in the hall, too, doll,” Bucky added. “Can’t wait to dig in.”

“Soon, I hope. That briefing took forever.” Steve looked at her with hopeful, puppy-dog eyes that no longer fooled her for a second.

“Well maybe if certain a certain someone would quit doing reckless things like jumping off a building without a parachute, _again_ , I might add,” Darcy said sweetly, “and if a certain other someone didn’t _jump after them_ , your briefings wouldn’t include a twenty-minute Fury rant at the end.”

Steve sighed.  “So… Nat told.”

“Nat told,” the redhead chimed in blithely from where she was lounging on the couch, her hair still wet and curling from the shower, flipping another page over on her magazine.

“Anyway, this isn’t for us,” Darcy said, waving him off toward the living room. “You three with your super enhancements or whatever don’t need it. This is for Agents iPod-Thief and Barton.”

“Coulson and _Hawkass_ get the soup?” Bucky teased. “Could be worse, I guess. You could have made it for Sam.”

“Darcy sent me up with some earlier.” A hint of a smile tugged at Natasha’s lips as Bucky groaned.

Steve hid his smile as well, before finally shuffling off toward where Darcy had gestured, then stopped in his tracks. “Um… Nat’s naked.”

“Darcy’s cooking, so it’s hot in here. Are you complaining, Rogers?” This time Nat didn’t bother to keep her face impassive, raising a sculpted brow at him instead.

“No,” Steve said. “Definitely not complaining. Just… observing.”

“Good,” Natasha replied. “I’d hate to think you left out being hit in the head during the briefing.”

Steve sank into the armchair across from Natasha, pulling out one of his sketchbooks and some charcoal from goodness knows where (he seemed to have them tucked all over), tilting it in the redhead’s direction in a silent request for permission. She shrugged elegantly, then nodded, going back to flipping through her magazine.

“I think the better question here,” Bucky said, creeping closer to Darcy to snag her around the waist, “is why isn’t _Darcy_ also naked?”

“Because it’s not that kind of witchcraft, dude,” Darcy bumped him gently with her hip. “And if it was, I wouldn’t be serving it to… well, anyone except you three. I’m a taken woman.”

“We do like to take you,” Natasha grinned. “As often as humanly possible.”

Darcy flushed slightly because, even after being together for months, she still sometimes got a little gobsmacked that these three amazing people who saved the world on a regular basis - and looked hot as fuck while doing it - wanted her. Loved her. She didn’t always understand it, but she’d learned to shake off her insecurities, to accept it.

“Besides,” she said, moving back to the topic at hand. “You only have to burn your nipples on the stovetop once to decide you’re never cooking with the girls out again.”

“Fair,” Steve said from the armchair. Natasha snorted back a laugh.

Something shiny moved in Darcy’s peripheral vision: Bucky’s shiny prosthetic, creeping toward the cellophane covering the plate of cookies she’d arranged and then tucked away.

“Hey!” She whacked it playfully with the wooden spoon she was still hanging onto, and he shook it ruefully even though she knew well and good that it didn’t hurt. “Those aren’t for us either!”

“What! Why not? Who are _those_ for?”

“They’re for Peter, for the bake sale at his school. He asked me to help out, and then you all go the call to Assemble, so…”

“Can’t I have just one?”

“You want one, you can hit up the high school tomorrow, Mr. Decades of Military Back Pay.”

“Fine,” Bucky said. “Is there anything in the fridge that I _can_ have?”

“Anything but the mason jar of sweet tea.”

“Wait, you made sweet tea and we don’t even get any?” Steve threw her those puppy-dog eyes again.

“Not unless you have morning sickness you haven’t told me about,” Darcy said, then rolled her eyes when all three did a double take at her. “Not me, you goobers. First of all, while I’m all in here, it’s way too soon for me to get sprogged up. And second of all, that is so not the way I’d ever break the news.”

They nodded, looking thoughtful, except Steve who was still lit up at the thought of any of his team members being in the family way. “Wait, who’s pregnant? Is it Wanda? Maria?  One of Coulson’s people?”

“You know who was looking kind of-“

“If you say pregnant,” Natasha cuts Bucky off, “and you are wrong, none of us are going to protect you from their wrath.”

“Kind of _glowing_ ,” Bucky said. “I’m not a complete idiot. Dr. Cho.”

“Oh no,” Darcy shook her head.  “She’s not pregnant, she’s just having some very excellent sex these days. And I’m not telling you who is having a baby because that’s news the happy parents get to break. But trust me, I have no doubt you’ll hear about it sooner rather than later. Kind of surprised the secret isn’t out already, quite frankly.”

“It’s Pepper, isn’t it?” Steve said eagerly. “Tony’s got to be over the moon.”

“I’m not saying one way or the other,” Darcy stuck out her tongue at him. “Anyway, this is just about done. If one of the two of you who are still wearing clothes – or both – wants to deliver it to it, the chicken I’ve got roasting should be ready to carve by the time you get back.”

“You did make us something to eat, too!” Bucky’s face lit up more than Steve’s had at the prospect of a new Avengerling.

“And after making all the other dishes too? You must be exhausted,” Steve’s eyes were sympathetic.

“I am,” Darcy said, dishing the soup into ceramic containers, then adding the cheese and bread on top before closing the lids. “But I’ll always save enough energy to take care of you guys. I put you first. Always.”

“You too, Darcy,” Natasha said, her eyes soft.

“I know,” Darcy smiled, watching as Steve set aside the sketch pad to join Bucky in holding out a hand so they each could take a container. “Hurry back soon. I think we all need a bit of energy replenishing.”

“First one back gets dibs on Darcy for dessert,” Bucky said as he pushed past Steve to hurry for the door.

“I was back from my delivery way ahead of you both,” Natasha called after them as they banter their way out into the hall.

“Don’t worry,” Darcy winked, pulling the chicken from the oven to rest while they waited for their boys to come back. “There’s plenty enough to go around. Seconds and thirds even.”


	14. Daisy Johnson/Matt Murdock for misunderstoodgallifreyian, written by ozhawk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **March 31 -** _Daisy Johnson/Matt Murdock with maybe something smutty for misunderstoodgallifreyian_
> 
> **Written by ozhawk**

“This feels kinky. Is this kinky? Wait, how can it be kinky if it’s always what you’re experiencing? Am I being accidentally ableist?”

Matt was laughing at her. She slapped in the general direction of his chuckles, missed.

“Stop it.”

“ _You_ stop talking so much. This is definitely not going to be sexy if you’re worrying about whether you’re allowed to get a kick out of it or not.”

Daisy sighed as his hands pressed lightly at her shoulders, pushing her to lie down on the bed. “All right.”

A minute passed. Two.

“Uh, Matt? Are you supposed to be doing something? Am I?”

“No. You’re supposed to be lying there letting yourself adapt to using your other senses.”

 _Oh_. Daisy had been tense, waiting for him to touch her. Instead, she willed herself to relax. The blindfold Matt had put on her was firm around her head, but not tight, not uncomfortable. Naked on his bed, she could feel a slight chill in the air, hear the traffic outside. Smell the lingering scent of coffee and Thai food from their dinner.

“Breathe deeply,” Matt said softly beside her, and she regulated her breathing to long, slow breaths in and out. She could hear her own pulse. Feel the warmth radiating from his body beside her, not quite touching. Smell his aftershave.

Warm breath ghosted over one nipple, and she twitched slightly. Her nipple hardened instantly.

“ _Matt_.”

“Lie still.”

The low-voiced command sent a shiver through Daisy. She bit the inside of her cheek, pressed her hands flat against the mattress beneath her. Flailing around trying to grab him was definitely not going to be a sexy look.

Hands on the mattress, she felt his weight shift just before his tongue licked hotly across her other nipple. She moaned outright this time and her legs slid apart as though drawn by ropes, though he’d barely touched her.

“Easy,” Matt said, and she could hear the laugh in his voice, picture the corners of his mouth curving up. “There’s no rush.”

“Says you.”

“Sshh.” His fingertip lightly traced her lower lips. “Or I’ll put a gag on you as well.”

“You wouldn’t!”

“No,” he admitted, the fingertip moving lower, sliding over her neck, the hollow of her throat. “I like hearing you scream my name too much.”

It was almost overwhelming for Daisy as Matt teased her gently, mapping her entire body with first his fingertips and then his tongue. Unable to see, only to feel, she was almost out of her mind with need by the time he finally slid inside her and stilled.

“Oh god, please,” she whimpered, clutching at him. “Please, Matt!” Her legs wrapped around his hips, arms around his neck, she rocked against him, chasing release. Finally caught up by her urgency, Matt gave her what she wanted, hard fast thrusts until she was clenching around him and screaming his name.

The hot gush of Matt’s seed deep inside her only prolonged Daisy’s pleasure. She held on tightly even when he would have pulled back, loving the heat and strength of his body over hers. She could feel his heartbeat hammering against her cheek, where it pressed against his throat.

It was Matt who finally reached to remove the blindfold, smiling down at her as she blinked, dazzled by the overhead light. “You okay?”

“Mm.” Daisy sighed as he eased out of her finally, flopped down beside her on the bed. Rolling to her side, she immediately sought the warmth of his arms again. “I see what you mean about other senses being enhanced. That was… intense.”

He smiled, and as always she was struck by the way the smile reached his sightless blue eyes. Matt expressed more with his eyes than most sighted people. Lovingly, she reached up to caress his jaw, and he caught her hand, brought it to his lips to kiss.

“Thank you for being willing to try that.”

“I’m fairly sure I should be thanking you for the best sex of my life, but sure. Any time. Literally, I mean that. _Any_ time.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, you too can have a birthday gift fic written for you! But you MUST be following [Marvel-ous Birthdays](https://marvelousbirthdays.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr! If you don't have a Tumblr, I'm sorry, you're out of luck. Please do not request in the comments here as we won't be able to oblige.
> 
> If you'd like a gift drabble written for your birthday, please check out the rules on [this Tumblr page](https://marvelousbirthdays.tumblr.com/rules) and [send us an ask](https://marvelousbirthdays.tumblr.com/ask) in the following format, or similar:
> 
> My birthday is April 26th and I'd like to request a RumSkye ficlet for the prompt “You wouldn’t dare!”


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